Conquistadors!, page 37
“The tankers are rolling,” Captain Ruddigore said. He sounded calm, but Martín had served under him long enough to hear the grim tone underneath his voice. “They’ll clear a path for our extraction.”
Escape, you mean, Martín thought. There was no way they could hope to secure Washington, even if the tankers did blast their way from the airbase to the centre of town. The city was just too big, too heavily defended. The enemy was like a hydra. They’d taken out at least two enemy CPs – they thought – and captured the President himself, but the enemy was still fighting. We need to get out of here before it’s too late.
He felt a twinge of guilt and envy as more orders snapped through the network, prepping the troops to move. The locals were fighting the Protectorate ... and winning. They might lose the overall war, but right now they were winning the battle. He envied them, even though he knew they’d kill him as surely as the rest of the regiment ...
Another explosion blasted out, far too close for comfort. It wouldn’t be long now.
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Washington DC, North America, Timeline F (OTL)
Callam gritted his teeth as the enemy force came into view.
It was impressive, he had to admit. They were trying to pull off their very own thunder run, charging straight into Washington at terrifying speed. The hastily erected barricades between the airbase and the city hadn’t lasted very long, nor had the sniper nests and mortar teams that had been deployed to slow the enemy down. Callam hadn’t expected them to have much impact, but he’d hoped for more. The enemy was clearly too desperate to waste time hunting down and killing snipers, no matter how irritating they were.
“Prepare to fire,” he ordered. It felt like a repeat of the first ambush, only with more primitive weapons and tactics. The enemy had been delayed long enough for the defenders to make sure of their route, then move into position. “But don’t fire until I give the word.”
He braced himself, keeping his emotions under tight control as the enemy force neared his position. They were charging forward, heedless of any possible danger, and snapping off shots in a manner that would have upset the lawyers in the old days ... Callam suspected, from just how many shots the enemy were firing at half-seen threats, that they didn’t have to worry about either ammunition consumption or lawfare. He almost envied them, although he knew the lawyers would have been the least of his worries if he’d fired off so many shots so quickly. His platoon sergeant would have made him regret it long before the CO ever realised what had happened.
Smart of them, he acknowledged. We’ve had plenty of time to turn the city into a death trap.
He reached for the trigger and pulled it hard, then turned and ran as the makeshift rocket launchers started to fire. They’d been put together by Army engineers and technical students, thrown together with a complete lack of regard for health and safety, and no one was entirely sure they wouldn’t blow up on the equally makeshift launcher. Hell, no one was entirely sure they’d fly in a straight line either. There was a very real possibility they’d fly in random directions ... and, of course, the enemy would retaliate. It didn’t matter. All that mattered, he’d been assured, was that the enemy would also be distracted. The distant gunners were already opening fire.
The noise behind him grew louder as the enemy point defence opened fire. The makeshift rockets didn’t have the punch of a proper antitank rocket, but the enemy didn’t know it ... they certainly couldn’t be sure. The Katyushas – the rockets weren’t proper Katyushas, yet the term had stuck – had been designed to scream as they flew to their targets, an unnerving sound to anyone who hadn’t been warned it was coming. He had no idea if the enemy infantry could hear the racket – they might well be buttoned down, now they knew they were under attack – but it didn’t matter. The real threat was dropping from high overhead.
He fell as the ground shook beneath his feet, landing on his hands and rolling over. The launching site was a burning ruin, the remnants of the launchers lost in flames. He smirked as he stood and hurried to the next position, the sound behind him growing louder as the enemy tanks crashed onwards. They probably thought they’d hit something important, not a cheap missile launcher that had already expended its rockets. He certainly hoped they thought they’d done well. If they thought they were winning ...
We haven’t won yet, he reminded himself. The ground heaved again, an explosion shaking the city. He heard glass shattering and instinctively covered his head. They can still win the day.
***
“Incoming fire,” Hawkweed reported. “I say again, incoming shells.”
“Order the rear elements to concentrate on the incoming shells,” James ordered. The enemy resistance was growing stronger, as more and more troops were shifted to meet the armoured thrust. “The lead tanks are to concentrate on self-defence.”
He watched, coldly, as the enemy shells started to vanish from the display. Their gunners had had plenty of time to choose their targets ... and, of course, the tanks were dangerously bunched up. He snapped orders, telling the gunners to take down buildings to clear their way – the hovertanks could just levitate over the rubble – knowing he was about to take a beating. Ruddigore would have to break out and come to them, when they reached the right place ... he snapped more orders, directing missile strikes right across the city. If they were lucky, they could leave half the enemy force trapped on the wrong side of the river.
“I’m picking up increased radio transmissions,” Hawkweed said. “Hundreds of them.”
James sucked in his breath. The transmissions ran the gauntlet from simple CB radios, so primitive he was surprised they were still in use, to military transmitters the locals found hard – if not impossible – to track. He reached for his terminal to order more missile strikes, then stopped himself. There were so many transmitters that blasting even a tiny fraction of the whole would use up his remaining missile, for what? He keyed a different command instead, bringing up the live feed from the drones. They could hit the transmitters with plasma fire ...
It’s a trick of some kind, he thought. The enemy weren’t stupid. They knew that using radio was asking to be killed, which meant ... were they trying to force him to expend his missiles on worthless targets? Possibly, almost certainly. It was what he’d do, if their positions were reversed. And yet, what happens if I don’t fire on them?
“Prep the drones to target the transmitters,” he ordered, coolly. “If they prove dangerous, open fire.”
“Aye, sir.”
***
Norris had never liked the military. He was the school’s nerd, the lowest of the low, and he’d been beaten up, time and time again, by assholes who bragged they’d grow up to be Navy SEALs or Green Berets or Marine Force Recon operatives or something, anything, that involved extreme violence inflicted on helpless targets. The idea of joining the Army had seemed absurd, foolish beyond words. He might play military-themed computer games, but that was as far as he’d go.
The thought amused him as he steered the drone through the maze of buildings, towards the enemy onslaught. He’d been effectively conscripted, along with nearly every other able-bodied young man in the city, and – instead of digging trenches and drilling with rifles – he’d been given control of a drone and taught how to fly it. The system was just like one of his favourite games – he rather suspected the games producer had stolen the system from the military – and the drone had proven to be remarkably easy to fly, at least during their training exercises. The trick of getting the drone in and out of the enemy defences became a great deal easier to master, he’d discovered, if you no longer had to worry about getting it out. All he had to do was slam the drone into an enemy vehicle, then watch the explosion from a safe distance.
The signal flickered as the drone flew closer, streaks of light filling the screen as the enemy defences opened fire. Norris twisted the joypad – someone had taken an old Mega Drive apart and worked the components into the system – to avoid a burst of enemy fire, then directed the drone at a smaller tank. Or IFV. The military officer in command – he’d looked like a uniformed nerd, to the point Norris had honestly wondered if he was cosplaying – had told them which vehicles were which, but it was difficult to be sure when the skies were full of energy beams and explosions. The enemy vehicle loomed up in front of him and ...
The screen went dark.
He felt sweat bead on his back as the system started to hunt for another drone. He’d never know if he’d hit the tank, or if the enemy point defence had killed the drone with microseconds to spare. He wanted to believe he’d scored a hit – he tried not to think about the reality of the situation – but ... it would be a long time, if ever, before the historians sorted out what had really happened. A new drone appeared, already heading towards the enemy, and Norris took control. It wasn’t over yet.
***
“We just lost an IFV,” Hawkweed snapped. “The troops had no time to bail.”
James cursed. They’d seen drones before, but this ... there were hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny drones flying towards them, some ducking and weaving as they flew overhead – clearly picking out targets and relaying instructions – and others programmed to crash into his vehicles and explode. Some were incapable of carrying enough explosive to do more than scratch the paint and shock the tank crews; others were capable of doing real damage. The drones were also under enemy control, flying as if they were piloted by genuine intelligences.
“And our attempt to scramble their transmissions isn’t working,” James muttered. There’d be time to figure out why the jamming wasn’t having any effect later. Perhaps enemy computer tech was more advanced than they’d thought, or they were using lasers, or ... it was a mystery they’d solve later. “Order the drones to take out the transmitters.”
“Aye, sir.”
***
Colin watched, grimly, as the enemy force made its way into the city. The drones were clearly having an impact – the latest reports suggested that upwards of nineteen vehicles had been disabled or destroyed – but the enemy was still coming, countering clever tricks with excessive violence. It was hard to tell if they’d run out of hypersonic missiles – or were simply reluctant to expend them so freely – yet ...
The sensors bleeped. The enemy drones were opening fire.
Colin let out a breath. The enemy drones were almost impossible to detect, as long as they remained at high altitude. The enemy also destroyed military radar systems the moment they came online, ensuring the drones and their aircraft simply couldn’t be tracked. They flew so high they couldn’t even be seen with the naked eye, but if they opened fire ...
“Feed the coordinates to the air defence units,” he ordered. “Tell them to fire at will.”
The operator grinned. “Who’s Will?”
Colin gave him the finger, then studied the display. Accuracy would be shitty at such a range – the drones were well out of handheld missile range – but the antiaircraft missiles were designed to explode near their targets, showering the area in shrapnel. The odds of scoring at least one hit were very good. He had no idea how tough the invader drones actually were, but he’d bet his life – he was – that they couldn’t take more than a handful of hits, if that. He’d be happy as long as they were stumbling away from the battlefield, unable to assist their masters any longer. It would be enough to give the troops a fighting chance.
“Sensor readings suggest we scored three hits,” the operator said, after a moment. “But I have no way to be sure.”
“They’ll be more careful when it comes to exposing the drones in future,” Colin said. “If they pull back ...”
***
James realised his mistake, too late. The drones had been effectively invisible until they’d opened fire, giving the enemy a chance to zero in on their location and try to blow them out of the sky. One drone had disintegrated, debris plummeting down; two more had been badly damaged and were limping their way back to Andrews. The remaining two had been lucky. Their operators had worked out what was happening and acted fast, stopping their fire and altering position before the enemy missiles arrived. But his drone coverage was much reduced ...
He leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to think. The enemy drone offensive was slacking off, either because the PEF drones had taken out the command units or because they were running out of drones. There was no tally of just how many drones had been hurled into the fire, or how many the enemy might have been able to gather and prep at such short notice, but there had to be hard limits. The whole concept of civilian-owned drones was just ... he shook his head. The armour column was still advancing, smashing buildings that might have housed snipers and observation points, but it was no longer so easy. The enemy shelling was intensifying.
We haven’t lost yet, he thought, cursing the cruel irony under his breath. The more men and materiel he lost, the more he needed a victory to make the losses worthwhile. There were limits to just how much blame he could shift to Essex, particularly when Essex himself was well on his way to Texas. But we need to act fast.
He keyed the display. “Prep the missile strike to clear the way for the breakout,” he ordered, coldly. The one upside to the whole affair was that the enemy had taken their eyes off the prize. If they’d thrown everything at Ruddigore instead of his advancing armour, they’d have obliterated the stranded regiment and forced James to retreat, his objective no longer even remotely obtainable. “And then inform Captain Ruddigore that he is to break out as soon as the missiles strike.”
“Aye, sir.”
James nodded, curtly. The river was the real problem. The tanks and IFVs could get across without trouble, but the armoured infantry would have a far harder time. He wanted to think they could capture enough boats to get the men across, and that would certainly make life easier, yet ... he dismissed the thought. They couldn’t rely on finding even a single boat, not after the evacuation. They’d probably been used to move civilians out of the city.
We fight our way there, link up with Ruddigore, and get back out before they bring down the hammer, he thought. We can still win this.
***
Felix stared, numbly, at the tornado tearing its way through Washington. He’d half-expected something out of a military movie, with tanks and aircraft clearly visible to the audience even if they weren’t to the other side, but instead it was flashes of light and half-seen glimpses of enemy – and friendly – forces that came and went so quickly it was hard to be sure which side they were on. The hidden cameras only showed a tiny fraction of the picture ...
“They’re nearing Point Lincoln,” General Grey said. Felix didn’t know how he managed to remain so calm. The fighting was only growing worse, both sides taking heavy losses ... he thought. It was all too easy to lose track of the overall battle, to be drawn into a single skirmish and impart it with an importance it lacked. “It’s time to implement Operation Brutus.”
Felix nodded, curtly. The plan was crude, and there was an excellent chance it would backfire, but there were no good options. He didn’t have to look at the map to know that the enemy force was steadily pushing towards the centre of the city, smashing its way through everything in its way. It was strange to think that a collapsed building was more of a problem for the defenders than the attackers ...
“Do it,” he ordered. “And ...”
The ground heaved, violently. Felix staggered, putting out a hand to keep himself from falling. An earthquake? Or a bunker-buster? The enemy hadn’t found the CP – the fact they were still alive was clear proof the enemy didn’t know where they were – but that could have changed ...
An observer staggered into the room. “Multiple missile strikes, right across the capital,” he said. “They’re clearing the way to the White House.”
“Or the way out,” Grey said. “Warn the blocking force. The enemy is about to break out.”
“Yes, sir.”
***
Captain Yates watched, grimly, as the missile launch crews prepared the hypersonic cruise missiles for launch, all too aware they were running out of time. The launch vehicles had been hastily repainted in civilian livery – a trucking company would have been very surprised to know it suddenly had a new fleet on the other side of the country – but the moment they raised the launch tubes their true purpose would be immediately obvious. The invaders didn’t have any orbiting spies, as far as anyone knew, yet their drones were very good at noting threats and dispatching aircraft to deal with them. Yates had no illusions. If a prowling enemy aircraft noticed the launchers, they’d be dead.
“Sir, all missiles are ready to fly.”
Yates barked out orders, directing the crews to hurry away as he keyed the launch code into the command system. The normal safeguards had been completely by-passed, the coordinates embedded within the guidance systems, and yet ... he felt a twinge of guilt as he inputted the final code. He was about to unleash hell on a target within the United States. If the situation hadn’t been so desperate, he would have questioned his orders. As it was ...
The first missile fired, shooting into the air at incredible speed. The others followed, heading east to their target. Yates took one last look, then turned and ran after his men. The invaders were fast. They were supposed to be occupied, and his detachment was harmless now the missiles had been fired, but he wouldn’t put it past them to come after him anyway. Hopefully, they’d be content with blowing up the launchers. If they shot up the surrounding area as well, they’d kill a great many people who had nothing to do with the war.
Seconds to impact, he thought. The enemy had already downed a flight of hypersonics, he’d been told, but those had been fired at longer range. His unit was at practically point-blank range by cruise missile standards. He prayed as he ran faster, mentally counting down the last few seconds. Please, let this work ...
